


Bullets, Falling Like Rain

by AceQueenKing



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-14 07:35:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8003953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/pseuds/AceQueenKing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You know, for someone who's spent the better half of their lifetime as an icicle, you've got a talent for attracting trouble." </p><p>"Yeah, but you <i>like</i> trouble."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bullets, Falling Like Rain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neverminetohold](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverminetohold/gifts).



War never changed, and neither did the Third Rail.

Harry nodded at him when he walked in. Nick liked Harry—Harry used to live in Diamond City, even help him out on a few cases;he'd seen the writing on the Green Wall when McDonough came to power and headed off to Goodneighbor.. He'd never forgotten the face, and ghouls—almost as long-lived as synths—were less afraid of him than the usual flesh and bloods.

If Nick hadn't been in such a rush, he would have stopped to chat. But he was already running late for his dinner date, and he was certain Aiden was already at the bar.. He could all but see Aiden rolling his eyes - he'd had the simpler job this time, just interviewing a few of the settlers who'd reported seeing lights from the top of Trinity Tower out in the Southside colonies. He should have been back in town earlier, but Valentine never liked to leave a job half-done, and he'd stayed longer to try to make sure the details were accurate. Aiden had only run out to do a stake-out for a few hours on one of the remaining high towers 'round Trinity; Nick doubted it would take him more than a few hours to find out what, if anything, was poking its head around in there. Ferals and mutants were never subtle. 

"You here for business, or just visitin'?" Harry asked. No doubt still keeping tabs for Hancock. Harry was a veritable font of information on Hancock's town, and Nick had found it wise to stay on his good side.

"Why not both?" Nick said with a smile.

"Ha!" Harry barked. "Don't mix too much pleasure with work, Nick. Ain't good for ya, not at your age."

He laughed as he walked down the steps, his mechanical voice echoing off the walls. The Third Rail was busy, Nick noticed. Good for White-chapel Charlie. He'd always had a soft spot for the old chrome dome, if only because it kept him from being the most inhuman thing in the room.

There was a singer on tonight. She waved at him as he pushed his way toward the front of the bar. She waved toward him, and he saw with a start that it was Charlotte on the floor tonight. He liked Charlotte. She was a good kid; he'd seen her growing up tottering after Nat, and while she hadn't exactly joined the proud Wright tradition of raising hell in Diamond City, she was doing alright here.

Had good pipes, too; he'd have to compliment her on the performance, if Aiden hadn't done so already. He'd always had a soft spot for all the kids from the old group – Piper's Charlotte, Preston's Harvey and Hailey. They'd have to come up to say hi after the show.

He glanced around the bar, his optical sensors seeking Aiden. His first scan through the room failed to highlight Aiden's familiar dark hair—still as black as night as when they'd met, with bright blue eyes that he had only ever seen in his long-term partner. He re-scanned again, paying special attention to the darker corners of the room – He wondered if his optical sensors were going. In the thirty years Nick had known him, Aiden had yet to be anything less than half-an-hour early. 

But he was not there.

Nick blinked, uneasy yellow eyes focusing on the bar. His gut reaction hurt, and he tried to ignore it. Aiden was fine; he was a more than competent adult, able to out-shoot Nick easily. He'd seen Aiden take down a rad-scorpion from 200 feet; had seen him gun down _irradiated_ radscorpions in the Wastes. He could handle himself; something had come up, and he would be here soon.

He took a seat at the bar. If he couldn't find Aiden in the crowd, then he could make it easy for Aiden to find him.

“Ah, our good detective,” White-Chapel Charlie said. “What can I get you?”

“Nothing yet.” He said, eyes focused on the door. “I'm waitin' for someone.”

White-Chapel Charlie bobbled about – Nick knew he didn't have emotions, none of the handies did – but Nick couldn't quite shake the feeling that Charlie wasn't happy about the lack of paying customer.

He made a mental note to buy an extra drink when Aiden got here.

Nick's mechanical eyes filtered over the crowd again, but still no Aiden. Or, at least, no Aiden that he could see. He hadn't had any of his parts fail yet, but he knew for some synths, their parts would age and fall into decline or, for earlier models, disrepair. Nick had never been able to determine where on the synthetic evolutionary line he'd been—certainly not a model 1, his ability to think for himself spoke of that. He was a bit past the model 2, given the feelings he had for his partner. But the model 3's—with fully-human skin, blood, sweat—that was beyond him.

He'd been jealous of Sturges, of Deacon; as biological as they were mechanical, with faces that aged and skin that sagged. But it hadn't mattered, much; it might have taken people longer to warm to him, but people still came to Nick when they were down and out.

And Nick liked helping the down and out. It was how he found himself in places like this.

He tried to force himself to relax as he sat alone at the bar. Normally he liked the bar. Best place in the house to get a good look at the clientele without attracting too much attention to himself. He didn't really need to watch the exits these days—Goodneighbor wasn't that kind of town anymore—but old habits died hard.

But the longer he sat alone, the more obvious it was that Aiden was not here and that Aiden was now running quite late. Nick felt uneasy at it, unable to stop from wondering if he'd made the right choice in letting Aiden go off alone.

He tried to shake his discomfort.

“Charlie,” he said, and the old bot whirled in his direction. “Whiskey. Two fingers.”

“Yes Ser!” Charlie barked, his multitude of arms whirling across the bar. He watched as he poured out the whiskey, more three fingers than two but Nick wasn't one to complain. Wasn't like he could get drunk, anyway. He listened to a few songs, even tried to tap his feet, though he'd literally been born with two iron feet.

But after an hour, his misgiving gave away to full panic: Aiden was not still not there.

Nick didn't have a heart, but the mechanical sensors within his chest whirled in misgiving. Aiden teased him about his pessimism, but it was hard, having lived as long as Nick had, to not think of things going wrong.

A lot went wrong in the wasteland.

A memory came to mind, blond hair stained red as she fell, in front a god damned _sub_ shop -- -

He shook his head. _No_ , he thought, _don't think about that_. Jennifer wasn't his, but she haunted him still. There were times, in the past, when he'd clung to those memories, even had Irma fully immerse himself in what Nick could remember of her—blond hair, a soft smile. He liked her laugh: shy, gentle. Aiden couldn't be more different than her—dark haired and smirking, with a big booming soldier's laugh and biting wit—but he'd recognized the feeling of falling head over heels from Jennifer.

Now he was trying very hard not to worry about whether Aiden would meet the same end as she had.

He took a long, shaky breath as he watched Charlotte sing. Kid was belting it, which meant this had to be one of her last numbers in the night. He debated leaving the bar; perhaps he could give her a message in case Aiden showed up, perhaps he could run fast enough that he could make it to Trinity Tower before dawn, could help Aiden if he was in a fight –

His grip tightened on his glass, the noise of the servos in his arms grinding and loud.

“Oy mate,” Whitechapel grumbled. “Easy on the glass, not easy to get replacements on those things, you know.”  
  
“Sorry,” Nick shrugged. “Malfunction.”  
  
Whitechapel bobbed in what Nick thought was an amiable response. Sometimes being synthetic had its advantages.

"Well, if it ain't my favorite detective, Uncle Nick," Charlotte said; he bristled, his optical sensors flickering over to her direction. He hadn't been aware her song had ended, too lost in thought. She sashayed over to him, put a hand on his arm. He froze for a second, still unused, after a hundred years, to the feel of a friendly hand on his own.

For the most part, it didn't happen in the wasteland. He'd been struck absolutely stupid when Aiden had laid a hand on his back, casually, for the first time: it had been the first time since he had become a synth that someone had touched him without absolutely needing to.

He forced his servos to decompress. “Hey Charlotte,” he said, and she grinned. “How's things going down here?”

“It's good, it's good.” She had black hair, Charlotte, that fell around her face in waves; it reminded him of her mother, at her age. She had the same hell-fire eyes, too; beguiling and brown, but with a bright amber spark that reminded him of a match being struck. “Mom hasn't quite forgiven me from moving away from Diamond City, though.”

“Piper'll come around, kid,” he said; truthfully, Piper had already asked him to keep an eye on her here, which he was glad to do. She hadn't needed much help, though; kid stayed out of the dangerous areas, didn't buy chems.

“Where's your companion?” She asked, her eyes glancing toward the entrance. “Thought you and Uncle Aiden were attached at the hip.”  
  
“We're not quite that bad, yet.” He said with a soft smile, and thought of Aiden, feet up on one of the many piles of old cases, newspapers, and random objects that they'd acquired in the detective agency.  
  
“Uh-huh.” She said, shaking her head. “So – since you're here alone – you here on a case? Or did mom ask you to check up on me?”  
  
“A case. Sorta.” He shrugged. “Supposed to meet your uncle Aiden here actually – “  
  
“Aha!” Charlotte had the same look as her mother when she was onto a story – bright eyes focused on him, burning in triumph.  
  
“Oh, don't give me that,” Nick waved his hand around. “This is work. He was doing a stake-out on the old Trinity Towers ruin.”  
  
“Oh great!” She tugged on a light sweater over her sparkling dress, kicking her feet up at the bar. “When do you think he's gonna get in? I'll buy you guys a couple beers.”

“Was supposed to be here an hour ago,” Nick grumbled.

“He'll be here soon,” she said, her voice as firm as her mother's. He almost believed Aiden would have to obey it.

They sat in amiable silence for a while; Charlotte ordered a screwdriver, then another, and Nick watched her drink both. They chit chatted for a bit, more Charlotte than himself, about the town. But for every minute he sat there, the feelings of misgiving increased, and finally, Nick could bear it no more.

“Maybe, but I'm going to look around for him,” Nick said, standing up. “He's never this late. Hell, he's never late to begin with.”

Nearly an hour late now. Time was hard to tell out in the less civilized parts of the wasteland – which was most of the wasteland – but they'd chosen the hour of twilight, and Aiden was a military boy to the end. If he was late, something had happened, Nick decided.

He wished, not for the first time, that they had been able to repair the old networks. They'd tried a few times to get a phone up, or the messaging system ona pair'a pip boys but there had been too much ground that had been razed, too many telephone poles annihilated in the war. They'd tried building 'em back up in Sanctuary, but the infrastructure had been too far damaged, and neither of them had the knowledge to fix it.

“You couldn't have been a carpenter before you got frozen?” He'd complained once. Aiden had laughed. Now, Nick just wished either of them had bothered to take up the hobby – there were at least a coupl'a old handyman books somewhere in the old office. Maybe it was time they used them.

Hell, maybe he'd start tonight, if everything turned out okay. After all, he didn't need his beauty sleep.

“You sure you wanna go out there?” Charlotte asked; he nodded, walking toward the door. Charlie knew he was good for the tab – they'd done this often enough.

He heard her put down her second screwdriver, and turned toward the bar at the noise. She pushed her class toward Whitechapel Charlie as she pulled on her coat. 

“All tapped out, love?” The bot said, grabbing the glass and throwing it into the pile to be washed.

“I'm going with Nick.” She said, running after him – rather well, really, in heels.

“You don't have to,” he mumbled, but she shook her head.

“Nah, c'mon, you and Aiden looked out for me enough as a kid.” She patted him on the shoulder. “I'm gonna go check the State House. Hancock's usually sitting outside this time of night. You know how much Hancock likes to gab. Maybe he just holed him up?”  
  
He nodded. It was the less dangerous part of town, she'd be fine there. Hancock sitting out on scouting duty was odd though, or perhaps just another change – he would bet good caps Piper had had a _word_ with Hancock, too. He would have smirked thinking about it – Piper and Hancock agreed in their ideals, but rarely in action – if only he wasn't so preoccupied with Aiden.

He knew it wasn't just in his head when she grabbed his shoulder on the way out. “Don't worry. I'm gonna find him if he's there, and I'm gonna give him _hell_ for making you worry.”

And then she was gone, off toward the Old State House. He did not watch her go, heading instead toward the town gates. He know Aiden, knew the routes that he would travel. He could start at Goodneighbor, work his way to Trinity Tower in Aiden's preferred route. Then he could try the secondary route, the tertiary, the -

He thought, for one horrible second, of what would happen if he was too late. He thought of Jennifer, her blond hair matted with bright red blood, and his hand tightened, the screws screaming against one another. _Stop_ , he thought; _that's in the past._

But it didn't stop him from running.

He hit the city limits pretty quickly; a couple of Hancock's men nodded toward him, but he didn't stop to chat. He ran easily – he didn't have to stop, his pneumatic breaths not reliant on anything but his own charge.

He ran as far and as fast as he could; he wasn't sure how far he ran, but he could still see the fractured walls of Goodneighbor when he heard shots.

He stopped; his hands going for his pistol as he crouched, automatically seeking cover behind a few old barrels of radioactive waste.

Wasn't like it was going to hurt him, anyway.

His retinal scan picked up several targets; when he leaned over the edge of the barrel, he could see an entire group of them: synths. All level ones, judging from the plastic and wiring – but then again, the institute had been gone long enough, maybe it was just older models like himself, trying to make it with worn down gears and servos. Their mouths were hanging open, frozen in malfunctioning grimaces as a whirring cacophony of broken noises streamed out of them.

And in the middle of them all was a familiar man, his dark hair barely visible over the edge of his Swater.

That was bad. Aiden never busted out the melee weapons.

“Aiden!” He whispered. He was all alone, and judging by the three synths already on the ground, he'd been at this for a while. His face was covered in a sheen of sweat, and he saw Aiden flinch once – only once – as a synth moved toward him for a kill shot. He saw Aiden's crack at the synth before he heard it – the slight, clean jerk of his shoulder – and saw it nearly through the synth in front of him.

He took a large step forward, coming out of cover; Aiden saw him, nodded. The synth that had taken the brunt of Aiden's attack ignored him, and he took advantage,pointing his pistol toward it. He did not need a moment to aim – his servos in his arms did that automatically, as soon as he identified the other synth as hostile. He simply put his finger on the trigger and pulled.

The synth crumpled on Aiden's left, the servos winding down disturbingly.

Aiden nodded at him, and he wondered how long he had been fighting. He looked wan; exhausted. He hit another synth with the butt of his rifle, knocking them down; Nick realized, with sudden, horrible clarity, that Aiden had been fighting long enough to run out of bullets.

The path was clear between them and Nick took a run forward – wasn't like synth bullets were going to _hurt_ him from this position, so to speak – taking a couple pot shots at the remaining synths as he reunited with Aiden.

Aiden took up a position to his back, protecting his vital servos. A synth to his back started charging – he could hear it, the cogs in their legs overworking like mad. Nick turned, aimed for a headshot.

He made it. He breathed a soft sigh of relief as the synth flew backwards, sparks flying from its forehead.

“Nice shot,” Aiden said; he nodded, turning toward Aiden only for a few seconds to pass him some ammo. He covered Aiden as he pulled out his gun and reloaded; the last synth ran toward them on a suicide charge, only to be mowed down by Aiden's bullet.

For a moment, neither of them spoke, both focused on any potential last minute reinforcements. After listening to the calm noise of the clearing for a few moments, Nick turned toward Aiden.

“You know, for someone who's spent the better half of their lifetime as an icicle, you've got a talent for attracting trouble,” Nick said, reaching over to clasp Aiden's shoulder. He knew his steady hand wouldn't display his nerves – the Institute had biologically engineered that out of him.

But from the way that Aiden closed his hand above his own, he knew Aiden understood.

Always did.

“"Yeah, but you _like_ trouble,” Aiden said, running a hand through his dark hair. “Speaking of: How'd you find me?”  
  
“You were late.” He said, with a shrug. “Figured you got holed up somewhere along the way. And I know you always take the scenic route.” He gestured with his free hand to the forest around them.  
  
“Yeah,” Aiden said; he was still short of breath. Nick let go of his shoulder, fishing around in his pocket until he found the purified water bottle he always kept for Aiden – just in case. Wordlessly he offered it, and Aiden took it, downing nearly half the bottle in one big gulp.

“So where'd you find 'em? Synths ain't exactly common these days.” He waited patiently as Aiden finished his bottle, handing it back to him.

“Well you know, I'm great at finding metal friends. You could say I'm very _attractive_ ,” Aiden grinned, and he shook his head at the bad joke.

“The Southies livin' around the tower told me they heard a lot of noise coming toward the tower, but they thought it was supermutants keeping the lights on -- not synths.” He turned his head. “If they're mixing up the two, the water situation downtown is worse than we thought.”  
  
Aiden shook his head.

“There were mutants, for sure, but they were easy; just a small group, barely fortified.”  
  
“You were supposed to just be there for a stake-out.” He said; despite the mechanical vocalization, he knew Aiden felt his displeasure when he flinched.

“Aw, honey, don't give me that.” He shrugged. “You know there are kids in that area, yeah? I'm not going to let them go green. And I thought, well, my shotgun could handle it.”  
  
“You and that damn shotgun.” He said, shaking his head, but this time Aiden only laughed in response.  
  
“You know me. Got a thing for metal.” He winkled. “But the higher up the tower I went, the more I kept hearing these beeps and whirls. Though they'd just torn out the entrails of one of the computers up there, but it turned out instead...remember that cage? At the top of the tower?”  
  
“Oh yeah,” Nick nodded. “Shakespeare's missionary and the jolly green giant.”

“Yeah, that's the one. Well, instead of locking up humans this time, it was full of...well...” Aiden pointed toward the metal carcasses surrounding them. “They must have had 10 or 20 of them in there. Maybe more. All model one's but –” Aiden kicked one of the heavily modified plastic pistols laying at their feet; Nick watched it skid several yards. “Heavily armed.”

“Shit,” Nick said. “That's bad news.”  
  
“Yeah.” Aiden wiped sweat from his jet-black hair. “I thought we'd wiped out all the leftover nests of those guys, but...”  
  
“Must have one more.” Nick said.

“Yeah.” Aiden smiled and turned toward Goodneighbor, and Nick followed.

“Next time, I think you should go out with a partner.” Nick said, putting his hands in his pockets as he moved. “No more lone wolf trips.”

“This your way of telling me you want to go out on more dates?” Aiden asked, smiling widely.

“Oh, definitively. I'm a high maintenance kind of bot you know.”  
  
Aiden laughed, pulling him close, and Nick turned so that they stood face to face, in a tight embrace. They didn't kiss – not much point, given the institute didn't bother to give him any kind of erogenous zone programming – but he could feel Aiden's breath upon his face, could see every pore, every wrinkle, every movement of this bright blue eyes – and Aiden smiled, and that was enough.

“Well doll-face,” Aiden said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Let's get on the case, then.”  
  
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, sweet cheeks.”

 


End file.
